


A Different Kind Of Home

by orphan_account



Category: My Engineer (TV)
Genre: Anger, Fighting, Friendship/Love, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Infidelity, Injury, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:07:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24040306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Ram’s never been one to let bullies pick on others, not when he grew six inches, bulked up, and learned how to fight.
Relationships: King/Ram (My Engineer), Ram & Kumfah
Comments: 9
Kudos: 334





	A Different Kind Of Home

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know, vague backstory for Ram in this one but I didn't go into specifics because I'll leave that for the show. Although I have to say the show can be a little problematic at times, but Ram/King so far is pure as the sun, so. .

Ram’s never been one to let bullies pick on others, not when he grew six inches, bulked up, and learned how to fight. When he was younger, maybe, maybe he was too weak but he’s not anymore. He learned how to take the hits and then he finally learned how to give some back, and ever since then he doesn’t let it slide. If he sees someone in trouble, especially those smaller or outnumbered than the one perpetrating the violence he has to step in. He has to. He can’t turn away, not when so many turned away on him.

He’s walking home from a dinner with King, it happened somehow after a big test and it was nice. It was good. Listening to King’s voice talk as they eat, his warmth filling him up. It’s the way he likes things. It’s the best moments for him when he’s in his senior’s presence. It feels right like nothing else, and he wanted to send him home but Ram firmly shook his head on that. He needs some time to get his heart to stop beating so fast, and his cheeks to cool down in the cold of the night, and even if he’s better with people and King is an oasis for him, he still needs these precious moments alone sometimes.

“I said, did you or did you not talk to my girl?” A voice asks, deep and intimidating. Ram stops his bike with a small squelch of his tires and looks over to the alleyway of two buildings. It’s not too far in, the streetlight still bright enough to reflect off of each of their faces. What he sees his four against one. They look like they’re university students, but they’re older, and so if they are they must be in their last year or close to it. The one they crowd around is short and smaller. His clothes tell Ram firmly that he’s a freshman, just like him.

Ram feels his fists curl into a tight ball of fury, and before he can think about it or stop himself, he throws the bike down and runs up to them. He pushes the guy who holds the freshman by the collar of his shirt into the brick wall with a hard thud. The others stare at him like he’s grown a second head. Ram glares at them, his mouth unable and unwilling to move, to work. He knows that he should. He should say something or anything really, but he can’t. He feels like he did when he was younger, cornered and scared, and so terribly angry. But the fear is lessened as he remembers his lessons, back straight, foot back, and fist ready.

“What? You asking for it too?” Another says.

Ram looks to him and moves his body so he’s shielding the freshman in what he hopes is a conceiving manner of what he’s trying to convey. He’s protecting him, and they can’t hurt him. If they try to, they’ll have to go through Ram.

“Fine, if that’s the way you want it.” The one who grabbed the freshman’s shirt says, he’s angry, eyes dark and hair gelled back in what he probably hopes is an intimidating manner, but not for Ram. Not him. Ram reacts just as he throws the first punch, ducking and moving expertly out of the way, landing his own in his stomach and then the others come. The surround, they intimidate, and they snarl.

When Ram was younger he’d cower. He’d duck down, mouth into a frown, and sides heaving with great stress and pain, but he’s not young anymore. He’s older. He’s bigger. He fights. He snarls too.

The fights lasts as long as it needs to, Ram gets in many good hits and the others get in a few good and lucky ones too. If it was one or two, Ram would have finished it easily with their shitty skills, but there wasn’t, there as four. He’s bleeding down his eye, from his nose into his mouth. The metallic tang reminding him that he’s still alive. The gasp of pain in his ribs reminding him that he can still breathe. The freshman panicking over him reminding him that he’s still conscious, somewhat.

“Shit, should I call an ambulance?” He asks.

Ram looks up, head still dizzy as he looks from side to side but the four of them are gone, and the freshman, well, there’s not a scratch on him. Ram smiles.

“Are you crazy?” The freshman asks as he takes in Ram’s grin.

Ram’s heard those words before, but this time it doesn’t hurt as much as it once did. This time he tries to get up and the freshman helps him. He looks around and tries to move forward but he’s in pain, so he falters. Sharp pain in his chest and an ache in his head reminds him that he’s been in a fight, worse off for it, but he protected the freshman. So it’s a win. Isn’t it? What would have happened if he didn’t, and what would he feel if he ignored it? What would he remember?

“Let me help you. L- Let me call someone for you.” The freshman stutters out as he wraps an arm around Ram and helps him over to his bike. Ram wants to say ‘no, thank you’ as politely as he can under the circumstances, but he can’t. His mouth is still shut, glued like peanut butter. He doesn’t like being touched by people he doesn’t know. Makes him fearful.

Eventually they get to the bike and Ram steadies himself on it. He’s fine. He’s- He can’t even get on the damn bike.

“I- I’ll call you a Taxi?”

Ram looks to him and adverts his eyes as he nods almost reluctantly. The whole point of knowing how to fight is to avoid situations like this where he feels weak and vulnerable, but he supposes there’s more than one kind of situation in life that make you feel this way, like when he’s with King. The flower placed on him with delicacy, his heart beating forward and shining in the presence of King’s own. Or when he found his father at the motel, the weakness of being unable to do anything. Maybe that has something to do with why he was so reckless. There were four of them. He should have- Could have called someone. He didn’t. Why didn’t he?

“They’ll be here soon.” The freshman consoles as he hangs up from the short conversation. “Thank you, by the way, I guess I didn’t say it before.”

Ram nods, and true to the freshman’s word the Taxi arrives soon after. There must have been one in the neighborhood. He gets in and the freshman hands the driver a few bills, Ram tries to shake his hand but the freshman waves him off saying, “It’s the least I can do.” He walks away after that just as the driver asks Ram for the address. He tries to tell it but he can’t so he reaches for his phone to type it down, his house number coming up out of instinct, but then he stalls, staring at it.

If he goes home, aside from the interrogation there will his father’s loving arms around his mother. His concern for him. For his son, but where was his concern when it came to his family? When he decided it didn’t matter enough to turn down whoever that woman was? Where was his concern when he was destroying everything Ram’s ever known? All him and his brother have ever known? Where was it then?

His fist curls up in anger, almost like when he first saw those guys crowding around the freshman. He still feels that anger, almost as though the fight and getting fists reigned on him didn’t beat out all of that anger. It’s still there, and he can’t go home because the anger will fade away and the hurt will come, and he doesn’t want to hurt right now. He just wants to feel right again. Warm. Safe. Like at dinner when King was talking about all his spider plants and the progress they’re making. He wants that, even though his dogs beckon him with their wagging tails, he wants that atmosphere of every good thing ever. That’s what King is. He’s what rightness feels like. What his home used to feel like. Only a little different. A different kind of home.

“Sir? The address?” The driver asks again, and it snaps Ram out of it. He puts in King’s address in his notes before he can second guess himself and shows the phone to him. He doesn’t comment on his lack of verbal response, only nodding and driving. Driving to King’s. He just saw him, what if he thinks… He said any time. Does this count? He’s bloody and hurt. This driver must have seen a lot if he’s not even questioning it, but King will. But facing King even under these circumstances is and always will be a million times better than what’s waiting for him at home. The dirty secret- the pain- the hurt. The betrayal.

Ram nods politely to the driver as he gets out, his bike that was hooked onto the back now at his side. He leans on it heavily as he walks up to King’s residence. The house is quite big, and the backyard even more so. He knows King’s here because he said that’s where he was going, so he’s not too worried about that, but what he is worried about is his sister. What will she do or say? Thankfully King’s parents aren’t here, off on some trip leaving King and his sister house sitting, but still. Maybe he shouldn’t be here. Maybe he should just turn back.

“Ram!?” A familiar female voice half calls out, half asks. Ram squints through the darkening night and looks up to where she stands on the deck. Her eyes turn concerned as she walks closer and sees the state he’s in. “OH MY- What happened? Are you okay? Gosh, come in, come in.”

She tries to wrap her arms around Ram but he shrinks away from the touch. The freshman was already too much, and even though he knows her slightly more, it still is very uncomfortable. She doesn’t seem to notice or care much as she runs up to open the door for him. Ram softly sets his bike down and wraps an arm around his middle as he limps up the stairs and into the house, her shuffling behind him, and coming inside too. She ushers him to a couch which he sits down with a grimace.

“What happened? Oh, what are we going to do? King’s not here, he went out for a few drinks. Some last minute thing with his friends.”

Ram feels his heart sink and nods. He shouldn’t have come here. He should go. He tries to get up, but her hands on him stop him. “Don’t.” She says firmly. Her voice turning from panicked to firm and solid in seconds. She smiles kindly and says, “I’m a nurse. I’ll take care of you. Besides, King would have my head if I let you leave like this. I’ll get the first aid kit. Just sit tight.”

She hurries out of the room and Ram watches her go curiously. He didn’t know she was a nurse. He honestly would have never guessed. King never mentioned it either. Ram would have known, he listens to every word King says intently. They’re all important. All words are, but from King for Ram they’re even more so.

She comes back and she talks some more, Ram listens but he’s so tired. He feels the onset of shivering come and he can’t do anything to subside it. She notices and smiles. “I’ll make tea after I’m done.” She wipes away the blood, bandaging up the cut above his eyebrow, and wraps a bandage firmly around his ribs, telling him he needs to get an X-ray, but Ram knows broken bones. Broken ribs. These aren’t broken. His wrist is sore and it’s because it wasn’t wrapped, he’s not used to punching without no support so she wraps that too. She finds the blanket from the back of the couch and wraps it around him. She goes to make tea, but Ram never tastes it. His eyes drift shut as he lays back.

When he wakes up, there’s a hand in his and another softly running through the loose pieces of hair, the gel he uses having faded with time and with the fight. It feels nice, his eyes look up, and meets those of King’s, already knowing from the feeling of warmth, safety, and rightness of it all that it is him. When he sees Ram is awake he smiles softly, but then it turns sad and worried.

“What happened, cool boy?” He asks it gently, no urgency or demand for an answer. It’s soft and it’s all King.

Ram can’t say anything so he only shrugs, shifting in discomfort as it jostles the bruises. It doesn’t feel good enough, but King smiles like it is. His thumb rubbing along the bandaged knuckles stained in blood. Ram suddenly feels very small and very ugly. His insides on the outside. And they’re not like the flower King gave him which he has stuck in his favourite book, no instead it’s like the Venus fly trap he was gifted from him. Violent and hungry, beautiful only it’s moments of serenity. But King’s smile says that it’s okay that he sees it all, and it really is okay.

“Please tell me you gave them worse.” King says it with his own angry snarl buried right on the surface, threatening to come out. His grip on Ram’s hand tightening at the anger and pain of seeing Ram hurt like this.

Ram swallows nervously and nods, his heart suddenly beating too fast again as warmth seeps all over.

King smiles at that, but the anger and worry is still there. “Good.”

He lets go of Ram, and Ram misses the warmth instantly.

“Come on cool boy, Kumfah made breakfast, and then I’m taking you to the hospital. No arguing.”


End file.
